


cover me in gasoline

by folieahdude



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Black Parade Era, M/M, The Paramour Mansion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26552494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folieahdude/pseuds/folieahdude
Summary: Art’s been sucking the life out of him. Frank notices it in the purple circles around his eyes and the way his breath hitches every time he finishes another lettering and glues it to the wall. It’s sucking the life out of him and yet— yet, it’s what’s keeping him alive.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 17
Kudos: 59





	cover me in gasoline

**Author's Note:**

> i woke up to this scene in my head, playing over and over again. also kept thinking about that excerpt from _not the life it seems_ where frank says he would come up to gerard and tell him, ‘hey, do you know you can just write a song? you don’t have to kill yourself,’ and that gerard probably didn’t give a shit about what he was saying.
> 
> those two sentiments combined made me write this, so here it is. i’m really used to writing, but never fanfiction—so this is my first proper fic. let’s just see how this goes.

It’s like watching a raw cut splitting itself open in slow motion. 

He stares at his own scribbled words like believers stare at religious paintings, like every smudge of the Sharpie ink is a delicate tear crafted in marble. It’s art, Frankie, he’d say—but his eyes are vacant.

Art’s been sucking the life out of him. Frank notices it in the purple circle around his eyes and the way his breath hitches every time he finishes another lettering and glues it to the wall. It’s sucking the life out of him and yet— _yet,_ it’s what’s keeping him alive.

Frank doesn’t want him to die for the art but mostly, Frank doesn’t want him to die for not making it. So Frank watches Gerard quietly running his fingers through his recently cut short silver hair, lost in thought. Frank has changed his own hair constantly for the past few years but when Gerard does it, it’s always a statement of sorts. For Gerard, new hair means new storyline; new character. Frank changes his hair for fun—when Gerard does it, though, it’s for the message.

It’s a clear one, now. Short hair means no pulling and no pulling means keep your distance. Frank should probably get used to it by now, but it still hurts. I’ve been thinking a lot less about dying and more about living, Gerard says. It’s bullshit—he’s been obsessed with death for weeks now, replaying that fucking _The Passion of the Christ_ film over and over, but if that’s what he says, Frank has to shrug and pretend he buys it because that’s just how things are. Yeah, he brought up in The Heavy Room maybe twice, but for what? Gerard’s words are always final.

Gerard’s sitting on his bed—they have assigned beds at the fucking Paramour now and Frank hasn’t decided he likes the decision or not—, notebook on his lap. Frank doesn’t know if Gerard’s been writing or drawing but either way he’s creating, so getting close is a dangerous move Frank’s about to make. He doesn’t give a shit, actually, so he just sits beside Gerard and waits to be acknowledged.

Gerard then turns around with a puzzled expression—probably didn’t even notice Frank’s been here for the past 10 minutes. Frank gives him a little, encouraging smile, even though Frank doesn’t even know what he would be encouraging Gerard for. Lately all Frank wants is for Gerard to not die during the process of making a fucking record. 

‘Hey,’ Frank says. Sounds muffled and kind of weird, like he’s experimenting the word. ‘Been thinking about getting us some pizza. What d’you think?’

Frank doesn’t need to ask Gerard ‘cause Ray has probably already called the pizza place anyway, but he’s just trying to engage in a simple conversation that doesn’t involve throwing up insecurities and fear like they always do in The Heavy Room. He just misses hearing Gerard talk about anything not death-related, really.

Their hands touch for a brief second.

‘That’d be nice,’ Gerard answers him. ‘Didn’t have lunch today and I’m starving now that I think about it,’ he sighs.

Frank knows. Frank knows ‘cause he called Gerard up like three times earlier and all he ever got as a response was, ‘not now, maybe later?’—which in Gerard’s vocabulary means ‘forget about it’. Frank doesn’t have the strength to feel angry, though, so he just squeezes Gerard’s hand a bit. It’s a warning, however.

‘Cool. I think Ray already called up the pizza place, so.’

Gerard nods and gets his attention back to his drawing. It doesn’t seem like he wants Frank to leave, exactly, but Frank doesn’t know if that means he’s a 100% welcomed in here either. It’s hard to tell when Gerard is like this—but Frank’s a stubborn motherfucker, so he stays anyway.

‘Wanna tell me what you’re working on?’ Frank wants to scream at himself, but the words just come out before he has time to think them through. It’s like his whole body aches for any kind of conversation they might have—even if it hurts. It’s better than nothing.

‘Just a character design,’ Gerard explains, showing his notebook to Frank. It seems like a drawing of a lady and she’s wearing a gas mask with a vintage dress, her full hair going all places. It’s daunting—and so, so pretty. ‘Don’t have a name for them yet, but I’m thinking they could be part of the record somehow. Like a mother or a long lost sister, I don’t know. Something meaningful and powerful and attached to you forever, like a family bond.’

‘I like it,’ Frank tells him genuinely. He loves Gerard’s mind, so whatever shit he comes up with is always interesting to hear about. Gerard smiles at him, cheeks rosy and eyes timid. When Frank touches Gerard’s hand again, he notices Gerard’s fingers are cold. ‘And I’ve missed you.’

It’s out of nowhere, but it’s also so true that Frank’s heart feel like bursting when he verbalises it. Gerard seems confused, ‘cause he says, ‘I’ve been here all day—‘ and then, ‘—oh’ when he realises Frank’s thumb is slowly cleaning the graphite powder out of his right hand. ‘Sorry, Frankie, I’ve just been in my head lately.’

‘It’s alright,’ Frank lies. He can’t make Gerard feel worse than he already feels. ‘Just— don’t lose yourself, yeah?’ He doesn’t know why he’s asking Gerard that when he knows it’s futile to wait on a truthful response. Gerard mumbles a fake ‘yeah’ but doesn’t take his eyes off Frank’s, so Frank decides to kiss him.

It’s the way Gerard’s lips taste bitter and his hands grab Frank’s hair, rough but loosely, like he’s afraid of hurting Frank, that hurts the most. Which is fucking funny, actually—Gerard’s already hurting Frank by hurting himself for a couple of songs. Frank sighs into his mouth and grabs onto his clothes for dear life, hoping that anchors Gerard somehow to reality. To this dark, creepy room full of song titles ideas glued to the walls.

It doesn’t matter now, though. Frank has him—for at least an hour, that is.

It’s still better than nothing.


End file.
